Catalyst
by AIs4Awsome
Summary: Eighteen year old Anna's life is turned upside down when she finds herself falling for a vampire cross breed...rated T due to languige and violence. Please R&R...also suck at summaries..


**Authors Note: all characters/plot belongs to me so please dont copy :) this is actually based off a novel i was working on. I have another two chapters written but I wont post them unless i get maybe five or so reviews, so i know people are actually reading this. thanks and please R&R ! **

Prologue

I carefully trace a finger round the rim of the empty glass in front of me, trying to think.

"The whole thing was a blur. I don't really remember that much, to be honest." My voice comes out in a hoarse croak. My first real interrogation with an honest-to-God agent and I sound as if I'd just smoked an entire pack of Pall Malls while simultaneously downing one-too-many shots of Jack Daniels.

"I see." Agent Davidson says slowly, as if talking to a kid with a very obvious mental disability. She eyes me intently over steepled fingers, head cocked intelligently to one side. No doubt contemplating which question to throw at me next. "And can you confirm that your relationship with Number Seven-Two-Four has been terminated?"

I frown, try to remember. Who the hell is Number Seven-Two-Four?

I'm guessing Agent Davidson can see the confusion written all over my face because she looks down at the clipboard in her lap and reads, "Number Seven-Two-Four, Sam Smith." She quickly glances up, as if to check for some sort of reaction from me. "That was the alias it gave you, wasn't it?"

Oh.

Right.

I close my eyes, struggling to fight through the thick haze of sleep deprivation and pain medication.

Sam, Sam, Sam….

God, what was the question again?

There's the sound of a chair scraping loudly against the kitchen's ugly black and white linoleum floor and I feel a cold hand gently touching my bare arm, light as a feather. Shivers dance up and down my spine. I open my eyes to see Agent Davidson leaning across the table towards me, overly tweezed eyebrows set into a concerned frown above her rimless glasses. I can't really say I like her all that much but it's a surprisingly sympathetic gesture, nonetheless.

"I understand that you're tired, Ms. Vicars, but it's imperative that you give us this information."

I shake my head, attempting to clear my mind like an Etch and Sketch drawing.

"Sorry, what was the question?"

She sits back and the chair gives an audible groan in protest.

"Can you confirm that your relationship with Number Seventy-Two has been terminated?"

I feel a surprising, violent rush of anger rise up from somewhere deep inside me and I find myself clutching the edge of the table in an instinctive effort to control it.

"Yes, it's been terminated."

She presses her thin lips together, looking slightly taken aback by my acidic tone. I'm almost tempted to apologize. Almost. "I see." She scrawls something down onto her clipboard and I can hear the sound of pen scratching against paper. The sound is deafening in the otherwise silent room. Before she can ask another question, I stifle the unbearable silence with a quick, "Although it's not like I had much of a choice."

Agent Davidson looks up, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

My head jerks towards the kitchen window at the sudden high pitched whine of a car's tires squealing to a stop. Seconds later a set of high beams casts a momentary flash of blinding light through the window and across the small kitchen before plunging us into darkness once more.

"Ms. Vicars?"

I jump.

"What do you mean you didn't exactly have a choice?"

I open my mouth but no words come out.

How can such a simple question have such a complicated answer?

Agent Davidson inhales sharply and roughly fifteen seconds or so of silence pass between us before she asks, so quiet I'm just barely able to hear her, "Is it true you and Number Seven-Two-Four were engaging in physical relations?"

"What?"

She taps her pen against the clipboard, indicating to the sheaf of papers in front of her. "According to this report you admitted to having physical relations with it."

"I don't really feel comfortable talking about that," I mutter, trying to force a calm I don't feel into my words "and I was actually on some pretty strong painkillers when I gave that statement so it's kind of –"

"All I need is a confirmation. A simple yes or no would suffice." She cuts me off primly, pen poised over her clipboard. "I don't mean to pry, but may I remind you, Ms. Vicars, that this is vital information that could prove very useful in figuring out exactly what it is that this particular species –"

"Okay, fine, yes." I snap, hating where she's going with this. "We did. There."

She quickly jots something down. When she looks up, her mouth is set into a firm line. I brace myself for another question.

"Ms. Vicars, are you familiar with the term Stockholm Syndrome?"

I shake my head. Agent Davidson takes off her glasses and begins rubbing her eyes as if she's about to try and teach advanced calculus to a four year old with a wicked case of ADD.

"Webster's Dictionary defines Stockholm Syndrome as the psychological tendency of a hostage to bond, identify or sympathize with his or her captor. Do you understand?"

I nod, beginning to feel nervous.

"Would you consider it a possibility that you may be experiencing this syndrome? Perhaps it would explain some of your, shall we say, questionable actions over the last few days."

"I would, except for the fact that I wasn't held against my will."

A flicker of doubt cross's Agent Davidson's face.

"I wasn't."

She leans forward and stabs her pen at me accusingly. "So you're telling me that the two and a half months you spent in the Mojave Desert were by your own free will?" she demands, sounding more than a little skeptical.

"Yes."

She raises her eyebrows. She knows I'm lying.

I watch in silence as she tosses the clipboard onto the table, folds one leg over the other. "I want you to tell me how exactly you became involved with Number Seven-Two-Four. I also want you to recount for me – in detail - the events leading up to the last two days." She leans forward in her chair and I can tell from her not-so-subtle body language that she's been practically aching to be given the chance to get this particular information out of me.

The thing is, I really shouldn't be surprised. I think a part of me knew the minute Agent Davidson walked through the front door of my father's house nearly half an hour ago that she would have no intention of leaving without hearing my side of the story first.

"It's kind of a long story."

She pulls back the cuff of her black trench, revealing the dull shine of what is no doubt a knock off Rolex. "We've got time." She eyes me expectantly, daring me to put up a fight, or at least a weak protest.

Instead, I surprise us both and let out a long shaky sigh.

"Fine." I snap, more out of exhaustion than annoyance. I mean, the sooner we get this over with the better, right?

"Excellent."

Without changing her expression, she leans over beside her chair and I can hear the sound of a bag being unzipped. When she resurfaces she's holding a small portable voice recorder. She places it delicately on the table between us.

"Alright, Anna," she says, saying my name for the first time since the interrogation began, "I want you to tell me everything, start to finish, in your own words. It's crucial that you don't leave anything out, not matter how minute. Do you understand?"

I nod like the good girl I know I'm not.

"Ready?"

I give her a look. No, I'm not, but I have to take into consideration that my options are severely limited here.

She presses the red Record button and the tiny screen lights up.

One, two, three, four...

"Just start from the beginning."


End file.
